


To Care

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: (as domestic as one can be while at war), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Ivory gets a character tag and a relationship tag, Super mild but present, bc every time I write him with Jasnah I CRY, how much soft domestic shit can taryn write for jasnah/wit: more. the answer is always more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: RHYTHM OF WAR SPOILERS****SPOILERS****DID Y'ALL GET THAT?ARE YOU GONE IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED???? OKAY GOOD.Set towards the end of Rhythm of War, Wit POV:  a fic of three parts. The first part involves Wit's internal monologue on how fabulous Jasnah is. The second part involves Wit and Ivory's dialogue of how fabulous Jasnah is. The third part involves Wit impressing on Jasnah how fabulous she is. AKA: Jasnah falls asleep for five minutes, Wit gets incredibly soft, Ivory becomes slightly protective, and we all agree Jasnah is the best thing since sliced bread.
Relationships: Jasnah Kholin & Ivory, Jasnah Kholin/Hoid (Cosmere), Jasnah Kholin/Wit (Stormlight Archive)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 49





	To Care

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you more Jasnah/Wit fic and I have provided. First time I've attempted a Wit POV and I think it went okay?? It's tough to write someone with that level of experience/knowledge/smarts that I blatantly do not have but hey! An attempt was made. Enjoy.

Jasnah looked younger when she slept. Such was a cliche, and though he knew it was inevitable, as after so much of human history no idea could truly be original any more, he _did_ try to avoid the more frequently used ones. 

This was just an idle thought, however, not required to do any real work in thrilling or entertaining. Just for him. In this small, quiet moment, in a war camp in Emul, it was precisely what he needed to hear. How convenient that his thoughts were always there to think the things he needed to. 

Gently, he brushed the hair away from her face, admiring the softened lines of it. She was truly a beautiful woman. The Shard that had crafted her ancestors way back when ought to feel proud of themselves. She was a true masterwork. 

It surprised him how truly and deeply fond he felt of her, looking down at her now. 

Head pillowed on an enormously thick book she had been studying, which felt appropriate. Her fingers flexed slightly, their tips brushing over the lines of text, as if she could still _feel_ them, even in dreams. The spiky lines like heartbeat readouts elsewhere in the Cosmere. The life of its author still extended in these dry pages and thin lines. 

It had been quite a few centuries now since he’d allowed himself to enter into such a dalliance. Although this was dallying into a far stronger alliance between the two of them than that. That may be cause for concern, but looking at her now, it was hard to feel concern for anything. 

She _was_ truly wondrous. All people were their own flavour of unique experience, but they were not always a _good_ one. Jasnah Kholin had excelled in this area, as in so many others, and was nothing short of exquisite.

He had a deep love for humanity. It would not have been possible to continue doing as he did had he not. The weight of it all would have torn him down millenia ago had he not always had the good hearts of people like Jasnah Kholin to help buoy him up and support him. 

And she _did_ have a good heart. Far too few people saw that in her. They saw only the carefully sculpted mask she had crafted for herself over time. They heard her words, and read her analysis and essays, but they did not see what drove them, what drove _her_. 

Jasnah Kholin was a good woman, and she deserved far better than him. 

It was selfish, this thing he had embarked upon with her. It was always selfish, whenever he took partners. There was always somewhere else he needed to be, something else that would have to be more important to him. 

Jasnah seemed to understand that, so far. She had asked, naturally, and he had deflected her. That had irritated her, but in a way that only made her eager for more. Secrets were to Jasnah Kholin as flesh and blood were to others. They made her, gave her substance, something to sink the teeth into. 

Lately, she had merely requesting that he inform her in advance if he was about to disappear on one of his little trips, so she might set aside time to write out her own insults for the meetings she had the next day. 

Truly delightful.

She was captivating, fiercely intelligent, with a wit near as sharp as his own, barely in need of him at all at court. Or in general, really. 

She had taken eagerly to the information he had provided on other planets, Realmatic Theory, and other staples of the Cosmere that most took some time to adjust to. 

Within a few days, she’d been theorising with him, helping him compose letters to the other Shards, and asking deep, insightful questions that had frankly amazed him. Which was difficult to do at his point. 

Spectacular. 

She’d talked of accompanying him, if he would permit it. Increasingly he was thinking that he would. He had rarely done so in the past. It complicated the already complicated process of worldhopping. But for her...For her he might just make the exception. 

Not now, of course, she’d said firmly, with Roshar in such peril. But afterwards. If this world was saved, and she managed to survive that process. Once Alethkar had a more democratic system of rule in place that meant she was no longer needed, she wanted to go with him. 

He had opened up a whole new _galaxy_ of other worlds, cultures, magics, and peoples to her. Instead of being overwhelmed, she had just seen it as another area for her to study and explore and learn about. 

The thrill in her eyes when he talked of different worlds, the sheer _joy_ he could see just behind the veil of composure shielding her violet eyes...A man could become addicted to that

His fingers rested gently on her head, watching her in her peace. She deserved these moments of respite. Would that the Cosmere be willing to grant her them more often. 

No nightmares for now it seemed. She tried to hide them from him when they happened, not yet trusting him to seek comfort and reassurance from. Ivory did that for her. 

He had not let on that her efforts to keep him in the dark had been anything other than successful. It would only serve to upset her further, and he had no wish to do that. She had enough pressure on her as it was. 

This woman had been burned, burned nearly away to nothing, by those she had loved and trusted in the past. It would take her time to fully trust him. If she ever could. He would be neither surprised, nor offended, if she was no longer capable of _fully_ trusting him. Or, indeed, anyone. 

Save Ivory, of course. 

As if summoned by this thought, Ivory changed his form, growing to a visible size, standing on the back of Jasah’s chair, watching him with impenetrable eyes, arms folded. 

“I mean her no harm, my friend,” Wit said lightly. 

That was true. He did not mean her harm. He never meant anyone harm. But there were times when it was necessary. Terrible, but necessary.

The Cosmere could be a cruel, harsh place, and no-one knew that better than him. 

No-one knew better, either, that being prevented from physically hurting someone, had not limited his capacity for causing pain. Even to those he loved. Especially to them. 

Wounds to the body would, if given the proper time and motivation, heal themselves. Wounds to the heart, and the soul, though? Well, no force in the Cosmere he knew of had yet found a way to repair that damage.

Jasnah herself was proof of that. She hid her scars well, but he knew they lingered. 

“I know that this is,” Ivory said simply, in that odd clipped way of the inkspren, “But she has asked that I watch over her when she sleeps. And I do this for her. Always.” 

“You do it very well,” Wit said, with a small bow. 

He doubted any understood the depth of the bond Jasnah shared with Ivory. He didn’t think even she realised precisely what it meant to her. And wouldn’t unless it were taken away. He hoped, which he was not often in the business of doing these days, she never found out. 

“She fears not what is,” Ivory said brusquely, with an air that implied he felt he had to explain Jasnah, which was oddly endearing, "But what might.” 

Wit nodded, fingers carding gently through Jasnah’s soft black hair again, “She is wise,” he said, quietly, “And cautious.” 

“She is afraid,” Ivory returned bluntly. 

As far as whimsical conversation partners went, even _Design_ was better than an inkspren. 

He considered that. A hasty assessment, perhaps. Her own personal design seemed to revolve around vexing him in every way imaginable. At least Ivory made an effort. And wasn’t a _monster_. 

“Does she fear me?” Wit asked, curious. 

Ivory studied him for a long moment, expression inscrutable. Even for a spren.

“No,” he said, finally, “Though only recently is this not,” he added, and Wit nodded. 

“She’s decided to trust me, then?” he asked quietly, thinking how much harder this answer might make it to pull the pin on the grenade Roshar may yet have to be to protect the rest of the Cosmere. 

“No,” Ivory said, “Not this. She has decided to allow you close enough so that she may determine if you are fully worthy of trust.” 

Wit nodded again, considering that, “She is a very wise woman,” he said, and Ivory nodded firmly in agreement. 

Neither added that her wisdom had come at a terrible price.

Wit cocked his head, struck by a thought, and said, “And you, Ivory? Do you trust me? You are bonded to her, your opinion on this matters almost as much to me as her own.” 

Again Ivory studied him with that inscrutable obsidian face of his. In an uncharacteristic move, he allowed his shape to grow to his full size, standing eye to eye with Wit. It was a strangely disconcerting, even threatening gesture. He so rarely even revealed himself to any but Jasnah. 

“Your intentions for her, they _are_ ,” Ivory said, staring directly into his eyes. 

Inkspren often emphasised the last word of a phrase, the certain intonation of which gave all kinds of meaning. Unfortunately humans were not good at recognising these things. Usually. 

“They are,” Wit agreed. 

“You seek your own bond with her,” Ivory said, crossing his arms, “A human bond. This is not like the Radiant bond. It is less. But still close. Close enough to burn, to hurt, to rip.”

Wit nodded, and the spren stared at him again. 

“She _is_ , to me,” he said quietly, and his voice became strangely much more human, much more emotional than Wit had ever heard from one of his kind before. 

“Importance. She has much importance to me,” he went on, apparently realising he needed to clarify that last sentiment. 

He frowned in his odd way, all sharp lines and harsh gestures.

“It was not supposed to be so,” he said. 

His eyes drifted back down to Jasnah, expression softening. As much as it could, on an inkspren. 

“The warnings _were_ , from my kind, and many others. Humans were dangerous. Not to be trusted. She would destroy me, it was known. I tried to keep a distance. To not care. To be as spren. No passion. No feeling. These are things of men. If she were to kill me, I would make it hurt less, by not caring.” 

“How did that work out for you, Ivory?” Wit asked, the corners of his lips quirking up in a half-smile. 

“It did not,” Ivory replied flatly, “She is special,” he said, voice quiet again as he rested his fingers gently on her head, a gesture that was almost affectionate. “Special to me. Special to Roshar. _Special_.” He looked up at Wit and said, with intensity, “She should be special to you, also.” 

“She is,” Wit said, with unreserved sincerity. 

Ivory nodded sharply, “This is right,” he said. “She is lonely, I know this,” he continued, words more careful now, “Perhaps I should not tell you. But this is something you know already.” 

The words were not a question. Inkspren did not do questions, on the whole. They made statements and if they were incorrect, they expected you to simply adjust your reality to make them correct, rather than point out their potential flaw. 

“She wants for someone who can understand her. A companion. A bond. A human bond,” he said. “I am important to her. This _is_. But I am spren. I cannot do for her as you can. This is well. This is good.” 

He met Wit’s eyes again, and there was an almost imperceptible shift in his posture, in his bearing. It became protective, almost offensive, with how he positioned himself between Jasnah and Wit. 

“I also cannot hurt her as you can,” he said softly, “And you _can_ . She is like spren, but she is _not_ . I understand now,” he looked up at Wit again, and there was warning in his voice this time as he repeated once more, “She _is_ important. She _is_.” 

Well. Wit had been threatened, warned, chased, yelled at, punched, stabbed, and even shot at by those who sought to impress upon him what they thought of his potential to harm their loved ones which he had taken into his bed and, less frequently, his heart. 

This was the first time he’d been warned off by a splinter of the divine powers of creation. It was a rather persuasive argument, all things considered. Definitely top five, in his estimation, and in this case his estimation was the only estimation, so top five it was. 

“It happens,” Wit said quietly, stepping over to the easy chair he’d been lounging on and picking up the soft blanket strewn across it, “That I agree with you wholeheartedly, Ivory.” 

The spren had shrunk back to his diminutive form again, so when he turned, he was apparently addressing empty air. That was fine. He’d given many a performance to the empty air before, and it had always been a most satisfactory audience. Very low rates of heckling.

“She is very important,” he said, gently draping the blanket around her. 

He sighed, watching Jasnah as she shifted slightly in her sleep, face creasing for a moment, before she settled again. 

“And I was not supposed to care, either,” he murmured, more to himself than Ivory. “Emotions are not very good at doing as they’re supposed to, however, and they never have been. You’d have thought, after all this time, I’d be able to make them do as I please, but no. They have a will entirely their own. Particularly when it concerns Jasnah Kholin.” 

He shook his head, and, though he could no longer see it, imagined Ivory’s stiff nod of affirmation at that.

“I never intended it. Who could have imagined, even I? When I met her stumbling out of her perpendicularity somewhere so far from civilisation or thought the cartographers hadn’t even bothered to name it, I never thought that something like this was in our future." He glanced up at Ivory and smiled slightly, “Especially when she pointed you as a shardblade at my throat.”

Feeling. _True_ feeling. It had been some time since he'd allowed himself to become emotionally tangled with another. And never on a system as on the brink as Roshar. But. Well. Jasnah was Jasnah. They should really make that an official Alethi idiom.

"Much like your good self I found that I did. And I do. What a damnable woman,” he added, fondly, tucking the edges of the blanket around her. 

Jasnah stirred as he did so, then flinched and sat up too suddenly, the blanket falling away. He took a step back, to avoid crowding her, and raised his hands, 

“Fear not!” he cried, in dramatic tones, “‘Tis only I! Your trusty companion Wit!” 

She sighed, rubbing her temples, which was a common response to him.

These people had no sense of _theatre_ on this planet. He’d have to found the appropriate guild. If Roshar survived long enough, that was, it’d be his top priority. The brave new world would need theatre if it were to survive with any level of decency. 

“How long was I asleep?” she asked, looking around blearily for the clock Navani had sent her. 

Wonderful woman, truly, not least because she had produced Jasnah. And fabulous though her latest fabrials were, giving Jasnah a clock so she could more accurately stress about precisely how many minutes per day she wasted doing things like ‘eating’ and ‘breathing’ had perhaps not been the wisest thing she’d ever done. 

Wit had now purposefully lost or broken three of the damn things, but she just wouldn’t take the hint and kept sending them more. 

“Not long enough,” he returned, stepping deftly to the side and shoving the clock fabrial off the desk and onto the floor, covering the thump it made with a cough. 

Ivory frowned slightly at him, at a visible size again on Jasnah’s desk. Wit shrugged and widened his eyes innocently. Ivory said nothing. 

_Always knew I liked that spren_ , he thought, with a smirk. 

Jasnah glowered at him. She did have an _excellent_ glower. He’d have to try and encourage her to sit for a portrait of it at some point. Scholars in the future could learn so much by studying it. 

“Wit,” she said, as though he was stupid. 

Maybe he was. Provoking Jasnah Kholin was probably one of the top five ways to get yourself killed on Roshar. She ranked just behind chasmfiends. Her lack of mandibles really did a number on her statistics in that one. 

It truly took a very special kind of person to know his vast wealth and knowledge of the Cosmere and _still_ be able to speak to him with that kind of tone. It was excellent. 

He grinned at her. 

She just sighed, very heavily this time, and the weight of exhaustion seemed to crumple her as she said, tiredly, “What time is it?” 

“Irrelevant,” he said simply, gathering up the blanket she had dropped, so rudely, to the floor in her haste to ensure he wasn’t a dangerous assassin come to murder her while she napped. 

“Time is very relevant, Wit,” she said, frowning.

“Relative?” he said, lightly, “Why yes, I believe it is. In theory, at least. Relevant? Far less than you might think.” 

“I think that it’s very relevant, Wit,” she said, not even pausing to appreciate his rather fantastic word play. 

This situation was more dire than he’d first feared. 

“I have meetings. If I don’t turn up on time I don’t think the other monarchs will accept ‘the time wasn’t relevant to me’ as an appropriate reason.” 

“Peace, Jasnah,” he said gently, “It’s still late, you were barely asleep an hour.”

She relaxed visibly, then straightened in her seat and reached at once for her pen and notes. 

Without looking at him again she said, “Good. Can you fetch me the scout reports of enemy troop movements? I need to consult them to properly formulate a strategy to present later today.” 

“Jasnah,” he murmured, gently, laying a hand on her shoulder, “You need to sleep.” 

“I believe I just did,” she replied flatly. 

“For less than an hour.” 

“Which was more than I should have allowed myself. I’m growing sloppy, indeed,” she said smoothly. 

Damnable woman. It should not be permissible by law anywhere in the Cosmere to argue so well with him moments after waking up. 

“ _Jasnah_ ,” he said again, more firmly this time, stepping deliberately between her and the desk so she was forced to give him her full attention instead of continuing to make notes. 

She glowered at him in a way that told him quite clearly she was strongly considering soulcasting him to smoke just to get him out of her way. 

Well. Let her try. He could be just as damnable and frustrating as she could. More so, since he’d made a habit of it for quite a bit longer than she had. 

“Who am I, Jasnah?” he asked, lightly. 

“You’re Wit,” she replied, with a cold glare that told him she was not in the mood for his games. 

“Quite correct!” he replied, in a perky tone he knew would vex her delightfully, “I am _your_ Wit. I exist to provide wit to the throne of Alethkar. And that means that when you are being decidedly _witless_ , it is my sworn duty to step in and help you.” 

“I don’t need help, Wit,” she said, firmly. 

Somewhere, wherever she happened to be frolicking at the moment, Design hummed in pleasure at that blatant lie.

“You haven’t slept in four days,” he told her, sternly, “The bags under your eyes are becoming _quite_ pronounced, and that’s really hurting my attraction to you, don’t you know.” 

“I have Stormlight, Wit,” she said, irritably, “I don’t need to sleep.” 

“As a point of fact, my dear,” he replied calmly, steadily resisting her attempts to move him out of her way, “That’s blatantly untrue. And I know that you know this, as I heard you tell Sigzil yourself the other day when he was taking too many shifts on guard. 

"Stormlight _enhances_ your body. It allows you to push it beyond the normal limits and sustain that for a time. Eventually, however, no matter how much Stormlight you pour into yourself, you _will_ snap from the pressure, and it will make a rather large mess that you won’t be able to fix by pouring more Investiture into it.” 

She sighed, looking older than her years, and yet younger all at once. Lost. Almost helpless. And so, _so_ exhausted.

He crouched down in front of her, putting himself at eye-level, and reached out to gently cup her cheek in his hand. 

“You need to rest,” he told her quietly, stroking her cheek with his thumb, “You _deserve_ to rest. You have done enough for now.” 

She seemed to melt a little into his touch even as she deflated, all of her arrogant posturing lost to the storms that he knew raged inside her. 

“I can’t, Wit,” she murmured, voice cracking slightly from fatigue and fear. 

He smiled sadly and arched up to kiss her forehead, “You can,” he said, gently, “You shall. I will take care of anything you ask of me tonight in your stead. Whatever you wish to do with this time, I shall do it for you, while you sleep.” 

He raised a finger, as a faint twinkle dared to flicker in her eyes, and he forestalled her protest. 

“And if you refuse to sleep, I shall in turn refuse to do anything productive whatsoever. I will simply stand in this corner and recite Scadrian hymns until you are driven past the point of patience and forced to murder me. Which will be a real pest to deal with and mean a lot of extra paperwork. So by not sleeping you will, in fact, accomplish less than you would otherwise.” 

She sighed heavily again and said, “You aren’t going to let this drop, are you?” 

“Not even for a moment,” he replied, brightly. 

She closed her eyes, then glanced down at her shoulder. A moment later, Ivory’s voice spoke, projected loudly enough for Wit to hear as well. 

“I am in agreement with your Wit,” he said simply. 

He always called him ‘your Wit’ which was oddly endearing. 

“Humans need to sleep. This is, Jasnah. You know that this is.” 

She groaned, rubbing her eyes, “I can’t argue with both of you, I-” 

“Wondrous!” Wit exclaimed, interrupting her. 

He sprang up then gently nudged her to rise and began undoing the buttons on her havah. She frowned at him, batting away his attentive fingers. 

“I’m tired, Wit,” she said, irritably, “Not incompetent. I don’t need you to undress me.” 

“Humour me, dearest one,” he said lightly, “Permit me this one duty so that I may retain illusions of my contributions to this partnership we have embarked upon together.” 

“Your contributions amount to far more than your ability to undo buttons, Wit,” she said flatly, “If that was the only thing you’d been able to offer me I would never have put up with you for so long.” 

That was strangely sweet. In a very Jasnah sort of way. Which was, of course, the best kind. 

He smiled, and continued what he was doing, saying quietly, “I’m trying to teach you a very important lifeskill that you seem, as a byproduct of your own chronic over competence at everything you’ve ever attempted, to have completely missed out on.” 

“Which is what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“How to _relax_ for one storming minute, you impossible woman,” he said fondly, earning himself another truly magnificent glare. 

In return, he kissed the tip of her nose. That only caused her to roll her eyes at him, but she did so with a slight smile, so he considered this a victory on his end. 

She stood still, obviously grudgingly, with no expectation that this would work, but she allowed him to minister to her. 

He did so, gently easing her from her havah, taking the time to massage her cramped, knotted muscles as he did so, relieving the tension from them, peppering light, affectionate kisses over her as he did so. 

She had a great many areas of skill and knowledge, but it was clear she had no idea how to allow other people to take care of her. 

She was a swift learner in this, as in most things, however, and within five minutes, she was pliant, and comfortable beneath his touch, her eyes closed, her expression more at peace once again. 

He knew better than to suggest she bathe before sleeping. She had a strictly scheduled bath time in the mornings, and deviated from it only after battle or other, similar exertions. Or if he warned her of it in advance and gained her permission to be spontaneously romantic later that evening. 

So he merely fetched her night gown from the closet and eased her into it, followed at once by her robe, which she wore each night. He knew it had hidden gems sewn into the hems to provide Stormlight for her in an emergency. Prudent, but a sad insight into what life had forced her to do in order to survive it. 

He guided her to the bed and sat her down, then began to undo her braids, gently and expertly removing the pins and twists. As well he should be able to, given that he had put them up for her that morning. 

Her shoulders slumped again, but this time in relaxation, rather than exhaustion, and he counted that as a small win. They needed those in these trying times. 

“Thank you, Wit,” she murmured, sleepily, as he moved on to brushing out her long black hair. With fifty precise strokes, as it had been a long, tiring day for her. 

He pressed a soft, tender kiss to the back of her neck and said nothing. Now as not the time for grandstanding and loud affirmations of his own brilliance. Those would wait until the morning, when she was rested enough to appreciate them. 

Finally, he set aside his brush, peeled back the covers, and guided her to lie down. Then he settled in behind her, putting his arms around her and drawing her close. 

She looked at him over her shoulder, frowning slightly, “I thought you said you intended to do the work I wanted to get done tonight, so that I could rest while still being prepared?” 

“I did say that,” he agreed, “And I shall fulfil my promise to you. Once you’re firmly asleep. Until then, I still fear a relapse of your earlier stubborn behaviour, and must therefore snuggle you into submission.” 

She rolled her eyes, but settled back down and didn’t protest further. 

She _liked_ cuddling with him. He’d determined that much. Though she wouldn’t allow them both to fall asleep this way. Once they started getting ready to drift off, on the rare occasion she did drift off, she would nudge him away. Apparently he moved in his sleep and this was irksome. 

Her little quirks were all rather endearing to him. They made her her, for without them she would not be Jasnah, and he would not be nearly as fond of her. 

“Make sure that you do fetch those scout reports,” she said, her voice already becoming thick with tiredness. “And draft a response for Queen Fen regarding the state of the war in Emul as it stands now. And-” she broke off, stifling a yawn, “And be sure to take some notes on the current strategy we’ve been using, I feel there is a way to improve it. And-” 

She continued to mumble until sleep finally claimed her and dragged her away from her constant work and worries. He held her for a time afterwards, enjoying her warmth, the peaceful sound of her rhythmic breathing, the softening of her features as she fully relaxed. 

Then he gently extracted himself from the embrace and set about doing what she had requested of him. 

As he did so, he noticed Ivory settle into place on the headboard above where Jasnah slept, keeping watch over her. She had not asked him to do that. She did not have to. She knew that he would, and that was evidently enough for her. 

He doubted she would have slept at all the past six years without the spren to watch over her.

Wit nodded to Ivory, and the spren nodded back, an understanding passing between them. Together, whatever else was happening, they would teach this woman how to let herself be cared for again. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed that! I've really enjoyed the comments on the first Jasnah/Wit thing I posted. I did NOT expect there to be very much interest in reading works for this pairing at all, and I'm really humbled by the response! I'm trying to reply to everyone (eventually) as I really do appreciate your comments. They are to me as Stormlight is to Radiants: FUEL. 
> 
> If you have anything else you want to see from these two I can and will take suggestions or prompts bc I'm, apparently, a slut for these two.


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